Garbage Hangin' Over My Head
by Thepopcornpup
Summary: "Jack Kelly normally could cover up even the worst of problems with a smirk and an overly-cocky comment to ensure no one knew he had any issues in life. But, out of what seemed to be nowhere, the mind that was always caught in a dream was stuck in a swirling vortex of disjointed thoughts." (One-Shot) (Modern AU)
**Author's Note: Hello! I'm here with a story that I promised about aa month ago! Sorry for the wait, Guest! Also, another apology, I changed the prompt a bit. The prompt was for Jack and/or Davey comforting a Newsie after having a panic attack in class, but it turned into Davey comforting Jack after having a panic attack in class, mainly because Jack is the character I can relate to most, so he was the easiest for me to get into his shoes for this kind of thing. I'm sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted!**

 **Now, about the subject matter, I am no expert on panic attacks. This is based solely on my experiences with them. In fact, a lot of the thoughts Jack has throughout the stories are direct thoughts from attacks of my own. But, panic attacks are different for everyone who has them. This is just based on my encounters with them.**

 **Also, if it wasn't clear by now, I'm going to put a trigger warning on this for anxiety and panic attacks. I don't think it's too severe, but the absolute last thing I want is to trigger someone, so better safe than sorry!**

 **That's it for that extremely long Author's Note! I hope you enjoy it and if you do, reviews are more than welcome! I also always take prompts, even if they take me a month to write! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Jack Kelly had no clue what had gotten into him. Normally,he could cover up even the worst of problems with a smirk and an overly-cocky comment to ensure no one knew he had any issues in life. But, out of what seemed to be nowhere, the mind that was always caught in a dream was stuck in a swirling vortex of disjointed thoughts. Half of the thoughts weren't even coherent, just echoes of words that felt to Jack like someone whirling knives at him.

 _Why do I feel this way? What is this? I think I'm going to puke._

Despite the disaster that was happening in his brain, Jack sat down in his next class, pulling out his textbook and making eye contact with nobody, no way.

 _Do we have a test today? I think my application for art school is due. Was it due last week? Why isn't Crutchie here today? What are my hands doing?_

Jack glanced at his shaking hands. Why were they shaking?

 _Am I dying? That's not possible. Yes, it is. No, it isn't._

Davey sat down in the desk next to him. "Hey Jack," He greeted.

 _When did Davey get here? I'm going to faint. I've never fainted before. Or have I? Is it Thursday? Is anyone noticing this? What if I'm saying all this out loud?_

Jack swallowed hard and let a barely audible, "Hey," slip past the lump in his throat.

 _Did I even speak? Where's the teacher? How long have I been in class- a minute, an hour, an eternity? Same difference._

"Jack, are you okay?" Davey questioned, concern flitting across his features.

 _Gosh, does he have to be so nosey? Nothing is wrong with me. I'm fine. I'm going to pass out._

"Yeah," Jack responded with a curt, slight nod. "'S'all good."

 _See? I'm good. Is Crutchie sick? Again? That kid always gets sick. Where is the teacher? What class am I even in?_

"You really don't look good," Davey noted, the concern on his face deepening. "You look quite pale."

 _Quite. Quite. Quite's a weird word. Gosh, what is wrong with me? My hands are still flipping out. There's a weird stain on my desk._

"Fine," Was all Jack managed to get out.

 _Can this be over? Let it end. Is Katherine in this class?_

Before Davey could say anything else, Race slid into the desk behind Jack and clapped him on the back with a, "Hey Cowboy!"

 _Why?_

Jack's body jolted a bit before he turned his head around to see Race.

 _Stupid Race. Stupid life._

"Whoa, jumpy there?" Race chuckled. "Who are you, Skittery?"

 _Where is Skittery? I saw him in math. I think. Could the dang clock in this room stop ticking so loud? Sounds awful._

"Shut up," Jack tried to chuckle back, but it just came out bitter.

 _Why is my voice not listening to my brain? My brain isn't listening to anything I say. Stupid brain. Why aren't I in Santa Fe?_

"Woah, someone woke up on the wrong side of the roof this mornin'!" Race exclaimed with a grin. "What's eatin' ya?"

 _My brain is eating me. I could walk out of this class right now. Hop a bus to Santa Fe. What could anyone do about it?_

"Nothin'," Jack mumbled, clenching his fists so hard that his nails dug marks into his skin.

 _I will pass out. Nothing's stopping me from walking out of here. My feet are made of bricks. I'm going to die._

"Jack..." Davey trailed off, noticing Jack's clenched fists that he was hiding under the desk

 _Leave me alone. I want to be in Santa Fe._

Mr. Kloppman strolled into class and began some history lesson. Jack pulled out his notebook and began doodling messily in the margins, trying to focus on anything but the war of thoughts in his head.

 _Focus on the lesson. They don't let just anyone get a scholarship to New Mexico. Focus. Focus. Focus. Crutchie didn't text me this morning or anything. He just didn't show up at school. He could have been hit by a car. Kidnapped. Focus. Focus. Focus._

"Mr. Kelly?" Mr. Kloppman's voice cut through Jack's bombarding thoughts.

 _Shut up. Shut up. The whole world needs to shut up._

"Huh?" Jack squeaked numbly. The class giggled behind him.

 _I will gladly soak all of you. I hate my brain. Crutchie needs to call me._

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Mr. Kloppman sighed.

 _Are you mocking me? Why don't I know the question? Is that the question?_

"Uh, yeah," Jack answered shortly, cueing more giggles from his classmates.

 _Did I make a joke? I'm a joke. This is a joke. Why?_

"It's in your notes, Mr. Kelly," Mr. Kloppman said with another sigh. "Who was one leader in the fight against child labor in the late nineteenth century?"

 _I dunno. Me? Ha. Focus. Focus. Focus. I don't care. I don't freaking care. You're running out of time. They're waiting. Focus. Focus. Focus._

"I-I dunno, sir," Jack muttered, glancing over his notes but not retaining any of the words he skimmed over.

 _Why is my handwriting so messy? Walk out. Now. Go to Santa Fe._

"Do you have an alternative to 'I don't know?'" Mr. Kloppman rolled his eyes. "You know I can't take that as an answer."

 _What do you want from me? I'm going to pass out._

"No," Jack answered almost immediately, sharply. A few boys let out a chourus of "ohhh!"'s behind him.

 _Why aren't my notes making sense? I'm seventeen. I can read._

"Jack Kelly," Mr. Kloppman glared at Jack, his patience clearly wearing thin. "This isn't acceptable."

 _Yeah, is anything I do acceptable? Crutchie should be here._

"S-sorry," Jack stammered, which seemed to be the moment the class sobered. After all, Jack never apologized when he talked back to teachers. This wasn't a normal Jack Kelly sass-back. The class watched him warily as he continued, shuffling through his notes, "Ah, I-uh, still don't know, Kloppman. It's-uh...dunno, uh-"

 _The classroom is not supposed to spin. I'm going to puke. I'm going to pass out. The room needs to stay still._

"Are you alright?" Mr. Kloppman questioned, having softened. His eyebrows were knit with concern as he looked at his student, making Jack feel as if everyone could see right through him.

 _Yes. I'm fine. Great. Wonderful. I'm doing just great. Now leave me alone._

"No," Jack blurted.

 _No, I'm fine. I need to be in Santa Fe. Let me go. Get me out of here._

"Pardon me," Davey interjected. He got up from his desk and spoke softly to Mr. Kloppman. Jack watched him, his head still swirling.

 _What's Mouth doing? Who cares? Get me out of here._

After a short, almost-silent discussion with Mr. Kloppman, Davey approached Jack and gently asked, "Hey, can you come in the hall with me?"

 _No. If I stand, I'm going to faint. No. No. No_.

"Sure," Jack mumbled. "I-I guess."

 _Why? Why won't my mouth listen to my brain? Get me out of here._

With that, Jack stood up and followed Davey outside the classroom, surprised that he hadn't passed out by now. They sat on the stairs in the hall, with Jack tapping his foot jerkily as he waited for Davey to speak.

 _Why are we here? Why are we out here? Oh, gosh, I'm going to die._

"What do ya need?" Jack asked suddenly, uneasily. "Is there a reason we're out here? What are we doin'-" His flow of questions was interrupted by Davey.

 _Let me finish my sentence. I don't know where I was going with that. I am going to be sick._

"Jack," Davey said slowly. He held up his hands slightly, as if he were trying to put Jack at ease. "It's okay. Take a breath. I need you to do a favor for me."

 _I can't breathe. I cannot breathe. Since when was breathing so hard?_

"What?" Jack questioned quickly.

 _I can't do anything for him. I can't do anything right now. I need to get out of this school. This city. Away_.

Jack wasn't sure what he was expecting from Davey, but it certainly wasn't the request he was given. "Find one red thing in the room,"

 _What?_

"Dave, what?" Jack raised his eyebrow, and his foot had momentarily stopped tapping. But, his foot began its rapid rapping against the cold tile of the hall again as he asked, "That don't make any sense. Dave, I ain't-I ain't a kid learnin' my rainbow colors." He swallowed hard. " I-I feel like I'm dyin', Dave."

 _Am I? I could have some kind of freak disease. Or an aneurysm. I don't know how those work. Is this what it feels like?_

"I know," Davey replied softly, having complete patience with Jack for what seemed like the first time. "I know that feeling. It's okay."

 _No. No. No. It's not okay. You don't know how I feel. How could you know? Stop mocking me._

"Take your time, Jack," Davey continued, apparently not seeing that Jack was about to explode, or so he felt. "Just take a few moments to find one red thing out here."

 _Red? Why red? Why do you need something red? What does red have to do with anything? Red's a stupid color. I can't find- my shoes._

Jack's eyes darted around the room panickedly until the fell upon the battered Converse he'd worn almost every day for years that were barely red after the dirt that had gathered in the worn cloth. But, sure enough, they were red. "My shoes," Jack said aloud this time, in that same numb mumble he'd used back in the classroom. "They's red."

For a split second, Jack's mind had stopped racing. He seemed to have focused all of his energy on staring at his feet.

"Good," Davey said calmly. "Can you find something orange now?"

Jack's mind went back to racing.

 _I already found your red thing. Ain't that good enough? Can't you do me a favor now and use your brainiac knowledge to tell me what's wrong with me?_

What Jack didn't realize was that he'd said all of his thoughts out loud this time until Davey cut him off again.

"Yeah, yeah, I can," Davey said, his voice still annoyingly calm for Jack's liking. "What I think is happening right now, Jack, is a panic attack."

 _A what? I don't get those. That doesn't happen. Oh, gosh, make it stop._

"I ain't never had those, Dave, don't be stupid," Jack snapped, ripping the beanie off his head and balling it up in his fists.

 _I feel like I'm being attacked though. How has my heart not pumped itself out of my chest by now? I'm going to puke all over Davey._

"That doesn't mean you can't get them," Davey said, not responding to being called stupid the way he normally would (with an eye-roll and a reminder of some of the stupid things Jack has done), which irritated Jack further. "One thing that's always helped me during panic attacks is gageing my surroundings. So, I try to find one thing of each color in the rainbow to focus on what's around me instead of what's in my head."

 _There's the brainiac crap._

"Alright, fine, then," Jack obliged, shoving the beanie back on his head. His eyes darted around the hall until they landed on an orange poster. Next came yellow, which was found outside the window on a bunch of wildflowers on the yard. Next came green, which was the grass that the wildflowers grew on, but it could have also been the lockers, Jack added as an afterthought.

Jack had slowed down, and found himself focusing solely on trying to find something blue. Instead of the wild, half-coherent worries, his mind was fixed on finding something blue.

"My shirt," Jack answered, his voice shaky but calmer. "And, uh, your socks. They're purple."

"Good," Davey nodded. He paused for a moment. "Was that so hard?" He asked with a teasing grin.

Jack rolled his eyes. "No,"

"How do you feel now?" Davey asked. "Any better?"

"Ah, not great," Jack admitted, looking at his feet. "No, still pretty crappy. Really crappy. But, better." He smirked a bit when he said, "I don't think I'm dyin' anymore."

Davey smirked back. "That's good. We don't you dying." Another silence floated between them before he asked, "So, is it Crutchie?"

Jack nodded hesitantly. "Partly. The kid's leg's been bothering him, more than usual. He didn't tell me he'd be gone today. And, uh, my art scholarship. Keep thinkin' I ain't good enough, ya know? And, you know, just...life. I got other garbage hangin' over my head."

Davey put his hand on Jack's shoulder, a gesture that usually went the other way around with them. Davey and figured, though, with the amount of times Jack had slung his arms around Davey's shoulders in a tense moment, it must be comforting to him. And, it was. They remained in that position in silence for a while, with Jack catching his still-shaky breaths.

Some time passed, but neither could tell how much. Finally, Davey broke the silence by asking, "You ready to go back in now?"

Everything in Jack's head willed him to lie and say yes, but, as it had been all day, his mouth was not listening to his brain. "No. But, I mean, you can go back."

Davey shook his head. "Mr. Kloppman said we could take the time we needed, both of us."

Jack raised his eyebrow, silently promoting his friend to elaborate.

"I wasn't doing great today either," Davey confessed, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I wasn't having a full-on panic attack like you, but...I don't know. Thing just haven't been great, with Dad's job and all that other..." He trailed off before glancing at Jack. With a grin, he did a poor imatation of the other boy and finished, "All that other garbage I got hangin' over my head."

Jack chuckled and, with a good-natured shove at Davey, argued, "I do not sound like that." He let the chuckle die out before asking, "Well, why didn't ya tell me? I could helped."

"The same reason you didn't tell Race and me that you felt like you were dying," Davey replied.

Jack nodded. "Well, next time, let's agree to tell each other when we ain't doin' so good. You'se a nerd who can tell me the scientific reason I'm freaking out and I know garbage better than anybody."

Davey felt a smile tug at his lips. "That sounds good, Jack."

Suddenly, Jack's phone buzzed in his pocket. He'd be lying if he didn't say he whipped it out immeadietly, and was beyond relieved to see that Crutchie had texted.

 ** _Crutchie: sorry I aint here. Leg is bothering me but ill be fine. Got some better meds for it. Just have to get used to them. See me after school? Cant come to the roof._**

Jack let out a sigh. "It's Crutchie." He told Davey. "He's okay."

Before Davey could respond, Jack's phone buzzed again with another message from Crutchie.

 ** _Crutchie: CRUD I HOPE I DIDNT GET YOUR PHONE TAKEN AWAY. IF I DID IM SORRY AND IF THIS IS A TEACHER READING THIS IT AINT JACKS FAULT._**

Jack laughed and sent Crutchie a quick text to assure him that his phone was still in his possession. Then, he looked at Davey and chuckled, "Crazy kid. You ready?"

Davey looked as he were about to get up, but he paused before saying, "You know what? I think I need one more minute, if that's okay."

Jack nodded. "Of course it is. You gave me time to sort out my garbage, I'll give you time to sort out yours."

With that, Jack put his hand Davey's shoulder, and in that moment, they both knew, somewhere deep down, that they'd be okay.


End file.
